Knights of Cydonia
by Velkyn Karma
Summary: It started as a simple mission, a routine done hundreds of times. But after an unexpected attack leaves Sain wounded and days from help, Kent is forced to race against all odds to save the life of his friend before everything is gone. Nonpairing. Complete
1. Map of the Problematique

**Knights of Cydonia**

A fanfiction by Velkyn Karma

Summary: It started as a simple mission...just a message to deliver, supplies to gather, and some mountaineering. But after an unexpected attack leaves Sain wounded and days from help, Kent is forced to race against all odds to save the life of his friend before everything is gone.

Note that this is _not _a pairing story, just a simple story about friendship against impossible odds...were I in such a situation, I'd do anything and everything in my power to save my friend, too.

Disclaimer: I do not own, or pretend to own, the _Fire Emblem _game series or any of its subsequent characters, plots or other ideas. That right belongs solely to Nintendo and Intelligent Systems. The only thing here that's mine is the idea for the story.

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"Honey, I forgot to duck."

-Regan, assassination attempt on March 30, 1981

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Kent sighed and mentally calculated—for the fifteenth time that hour—the remaining days before he and Sain reached the Lady Lyndis and her party once again, trying desperately to ignore his parter-in-arms' prattle.

The two were traveling through the mountain passes on the edges of Bern, returning after a rendezvous with some non-combative members of their party left just at the border for precautionary purposes, as well as the few fighters left to guard them. While the Lady Lyndis, the Lords Eliwood and Hector, and some of their warriors had gone on into Bern to collect information on the Black Fang, the remaining members of their growing army—as well as their supply train, with Merlinus—had been left on the edges of Bern's border until the all-clear was pronounced by the intruding party. The two groups were now split by a string of mountains, and each group had been left with at least one flying messenger—Heath had traveled with the Lords and Lady, knowing Bern well, while the pegasus knights remained behind with the supply train to guard it—to cross the mountains and deliver information back and forth.

But Heath had been occupied in the fore-party recently, scouting ahead now that they drew closer to the swarms of wyvern knights that clouded the mountain peaks. And with Fiora and Florina decidedly far away, with mountains between them and their partners on the other side, there was little contact between the two parties for days. Supplies had been beginning to run low, and finally Eliwood had been forced to send ground soldiers back through the mountain passes for weaponry, food, and other necessary items.

When looking for suitable candidates, Lyn had suggested her own knights, Kent and Sain. Both were reliable, experienced, could look after themselves, and would be able to carry supplies back on their horses. Eliwood had agreed, Lyn asked the two men to complete the mission, and Kent, noble knight that he was, would never have refused his Lady a request, especially one so important.

Now he glanced back at Sain irritably, a few paces behind him. He should have known by now, after knowing the emerald knight since childhood, that the man could ramble for hours about the 'lovely lasses' he'd met recently at the tavern, or along the journey, or even the ones in their own camp, but somehow that knowledge had slipped his mind when Kent agreed to go on this mission with his friend. He wished keenly that he'd been able to refuse the request, for Sain had taken it upon himself to fill the silent void of the otherwise quiet journey over the mountains to their supply train with his chattering, stories, boasts and song—all five days of it.

Three days into the journey back, Sain was still cheerfully fulfilling his duty to utterly slaughter the serenity of the mountain passes, and Kent was sure that if his fellow cavalier continued much longer, he might suddenly 'slip' off the next steep mountain slope they happened to pass.

"And my darling Rose," the emerald knight was now chattering (loudly of course, Kent thought irritably; he didn't know how to keep his damn voice down!), "why Kent, she was so utterly perfect, a vision from the heavens. Not even her namesake could outmatch her sheer beauty! But so shy, such a--"

"Sain!" Kent finally snapped, cutting his friend off in mid-sentence. "Do you plan to bring an entire Wing of Wyvern knights down on our heads? We're in enemy territory and you're all but calling to them, the way you speak so loudly!"

"Just passing time," Sain answered with a laugh. "And with all this overgrowth, there's no way the wyvern could even see us down here. Don't worry so much, Kent, or you'll be gray before your time!" He laughed again and kicked his horse forward a few paces to draw level with his best friend, flashing a grin as he did so.

Kent did have to admit he had a point; their current path through the mountains led them through the trees on the side of the mountains, and any wyvern passing overhead would not be able to see them, or attack well through the branches. This was by no means a reason to throw caution to the winds, however, and Kent was determined to be careful.

"Nevertheless," he said sharply, giving Sain a serious look, "they'll still be able to hear you, and if they know our position, they can simply wait until a more favorable moment to attack. We need to return to Lady Lyndis _alive,_ remember."

"Of course, of course," Sain sighed, shaking his head in amused exasperation at his friend's seriousness, but he lowered his voice obligingly. If Kent had hoped his comment would shut the scoundrel knight up completely, however, he was sorely disappointed.

They were close to the peak of the slopes by midday, and Kent planned their decent down the mountainside accordingly. They would have to be careful for the next few days, for the rocky passes on the other side of the mountain were treacherous with a misplaced foot or hoof, and their paths would have to be picked carefully. However, with careful riding and planning, they would reach the bottom of the mountain within two and a half days, and from there the Lady Lyndis' camp was only a few hours' ride away. They were almost there, and within a few days Kent would be able to free himself from the never-ending babble of his friend—for a little while, anyway.

They paused for a quick meal in a small, shady clearing just inside the trees they had been traveling through all morning, then mounted their horses and continued from the grove, skirting the peak to begin the descent. Kent kept his eye on the paths, picked their way carefully among the rocks, and did his best to ignore his friend.

Sain continued on, seemingly ignorant of his friend's own ignorance, sighing wistfully at the memory of the latest woman on his mind as he gazed up at the sky. He had given his horse free rein to pick its way among the rocks after Kent's own steed, but wasn't terribly worried—like the two men, the horses had known each other since their first moments in the stables of Caelin, and through battle after battle had trained together enough to know their business as well as their masters.

That training and free rein was all that saved them, for Sain's horse paused suddenly in its movements, ears swiveling as it tossed its head anxiously. Sain was broken from his reverie and rambling instantly at the horse's lack of movement; despite his often roguish behavior among his friends, he was a skilled cavalier and understood the signs of danger when he saw them.

Unstrapping his lance from the saddle at his side, he hissed warningly, "Kent!"

The redhead was aware of the abrupt break in his friend's chatter, as well as the sudden, far more serious call, and he drew his sword from its saddle sheath quickly. His own horse was skittering anxiously now, and he began to back the creature away from the steep, dangerously rocky slopes to better fighting ground.

Too late. He had barely started moving before dark shapes swooped from behind the large rocky outcroppings, launching into the air with blood-curdling cries. Kent glanced up quickly, swallowing a curse, for eight wyvern knights wheeled above them, their lances and armor glinting in the afternoon sun as they twirled and dived over their prey like hungry vultures.

Two dove immediately for Kent, still caught in unfavorable ground. His horse, experienced in battle and now calmed by its master's commands, leaped aside to avoid the strikes, and Kent lashed at one of the attacking lances to knock it aside harmlessly. Sain, with a battle cry, kicked his horse forward to aid his friend, hefting his lance and lunging it at the soft membranes of the wyvern's wings. Its rider spun it aside to avoid the blow and swooped into the air again, unable to injure the blood-and-gold armored knight.

Kent nodded briskly to Sain in thanks, but needed no other action, and neither expected it. Both were experienced in fighting as a pair, and both knew the other would cover for him in a moment of weakness, should it come. But both also knew it was best to avoid weakness entirely, and so, as Sain spun his lance with a poetic challenge to the wyvern flying above them, drawing their attention, Kent glanced around the rocky outcroppings for a fast escape. If they stayed in the open ground, the wyvern knights would have the advantage of flight, and without decent footing both he and Sain would be lost.

Another three wyvern dived towards them, mouths open and screeching, fangs bared, and both knights rose to the challenge. Sain lunged his lance forward once again at one of the approaching flying lizards, cutting a light gouge down the creature's armored neck as his horse leaped nimbly aside. It did little damage—wyvern were especially tough creatures, and only a score to the fragile wing membranes or the soft underbelly would truly damage them—but it roared in distraction and twisted away from the irritant, soaring back up into the sky. A second screamed towards him, and this one was not so easy to avoid—his horse skittered wildly, kicked frantically at the gaping, horned head, and Sain only barely managed to bring his lance around to puncture the creature's exposed wing membrane.

It screeched, but its momentum was too great, and as it moved forward the lance blade sliced a tear clear through to the edge of the wyvern's fragile wing, Sain wrenching sideways to avoid the nasty claws that tipped even the extra appendages. It gave an almighty scream and writhed in the air, nearly bucking its rider despite the complex straps that bound him to the dragon-saddle, before crashing to the rocky ground, sending boulders spilling below down the dangerous slopes.

The wyvern continued roaring, thrashing, and Sain and his mount bolted before they were smashed by the battering wings or lashing spiked tail; the creature's crash had damaged them both enough as it was, and both horse and rider were bruised and cut by the first thrashings and scattered rocks. The emerald knight glanced around quickly in the confusion, searching for his friend as he whipped his lance to bear once more, prepared for the six wyvern still soaring above.

Kent was just disengaging from the third of the wyvern that had attacked them, wiping blood from his eyes with his free hand as he steered his horse with his knees. The battle had begun too quickly, and he'd had no time to switch to his lance for the fight—a much more favorable weapon for the distances it could reach, and far more useful against flying foe than his sword.

As such he'd been forced into close combat with the wyvern, and the creature was as nasty as its master, battering and slashing at its prey while its rider lunged again and again with his steel-tipped lance. Kent's horse had skittered and dipped to the best of its ability, bringing its own trusted rider closer to the beast he fought, and while Kent had been able to plunge his sword deep into the wyvern's ribcage as a result, neither steed nor cavalier had escaped that encounter without being knocked around a bit. Still, he had taken worse, and while the wyvern rider recovered from the sudden loss of his mount Kent whirled, kicking his own steed towards the path he had spotted as the fight began.

"Sain! This way!" he called, waving his sword wildly, the blade flashing in the sunlight. Sain called in response, pounding after his friend, lance at the ready, and Kent led the way, knowing without a doubt that his friend followed.

The red-haired knight wished feverishly he'd had a chance to explore their new chosen path before rushing headlong down it as though part of the hell hunt, but there was little choice. It was reckless, foolish, asking for death, but if they stayed in place and avoided the paths, they would most certainly be dead. Six wyverns and two now-grounded knights against the two cavaliers were still terrible odds, and in open air they would die in minutes. So he lead the way, his horse screaming in protest but aware in its own way of the danger, and Sain followed behind, utterly trusting both his friend and his horse to get them to safety, watching over his shoulder with his lance ready.

They plunged down the slope rapidly, wyvern screeching after them, pebbles skittering before them, hoping against hope that the one wrong badly placed hoof it would take to kill them would never come. Kent kept his eyes ahead, grimacing slightly, wondering for a moment why he had never bothered to learn to use a bow—_foolishness!_--but disregarding it as he searched for a haven, some sort of cover, anything. He heard the screeching behind him, but did not bother to look back, trusting Sain to keep the reptiles off their backs long enough, just long enough...

There! Just a little to the east along the slope, the rocky outcropping grew denser, closer together, and provided some cover from the air. If they could reach it, their smaller, nimbler mounts would weave into the stone passages and be gone before the wyvern could find them. And Kent knew from memory that those dense stone outcroppings turned to forest further down, more shelter from the air. If they could only reach it...

"Ahead!" he roared over his shoulder, sparing as few words as possible, trying to keep his breath in the flight. "Follow me!" Sain yelled back his recognition of Kent's call, batting a well-flung javelin aside with his own lance, and Kent turned back to the task at hand, guiding his horse carefully towards the outcropping.

He wasn't sure that they would make it. The paths became more treacherous as he moved, and he was sure his horse would twist and stumble, that Sain's would crash into his, that they would fly down the rocks to be broken and ripped to shreds to the jeers of the sky riders and the screams of the wyvern. But it was as if the hands of St. Elimine guided the horse's hooves, and they all but flew down the slope, blasting into the safe haven of rocky walls and ceilings so quickly they left nothing but massive clouds of dust in their wake. The screams of frustrated riders and hungry wyvern filled their ears for but a moment, but then they, too, were left behind as the knights continued their headlong rush to freedom.

Horses and riders kept on, fueled by adrenaline alone, until nearly half an hour later the steeds slowed to an exhausted halt in the shade of one of the denser rock formations. The cavaliers swung from their mounts, panting and sweating just as heavily as the creatures, and all four fell into an exhausted slump for some much-needed rest.

"We made it," Kent rasped, finally, after regaining his breath some five minutes later. "Barely, but we did."

The danger over, Sain's good humor began to return, and he gave a laugh that seemed half a cough. "What an adventure!" he half whispered, unable to talk in his normal, loud voice after the combination of screaming and panting. "A most impressive tale to share with the ladies once we return to our fine and noble camp."

Kent coughed slightly, then spoke. "Idiot!" he growled, his normally controlled temper flaring after their close encounter. "Must you flirt with everything..._including _death? I told you, your loud rambling would bring the wyvern riders of Bern down on us, but did you listen to me?"

"But it wasn't a full Wing," the charismatic knight responded, surprisingly good cheer in his hoarse voice. "You were wrong about that." He pressed a hand to his stomach, just underneath the breastplate of his armor. "And we're not dead either. You got that wrong too."

Kent sighed, but had to admit the situation could have been a lot worse. They could have died, but instead they had escaped with their lives, and, from a quick glance at himself, his friend, and the horses, relatively unscathed—mostly small cuts and bruises, and those would heal quickly--

He frowned suddenly, glancing at the hand on Sain's abdomen. He hadn't noticed before, since the emerald knight wore a black shirt beneath his armor, but now the contrast of welling blood over his fingers was unmistakable. With rare exceptions, superficial cuts did not bleed like _that. _"Sain? Are you injured badly?"  
"Only a scratch!" the optimistic knight answered immediately, but now that the adrenaline rush was beginning to wear off, that 'scratch' had one hell of a throb to it.

Kent fixed him with a flat, penetrating look, and Sain was unable to hide a grimace as a shot of pain stabbed through his stomach. "Very well then," he admitted, "a bit more of a scratch. A badge of valor then, a testimony to my brave and noble deeds as a Knight of Caelin! Ah, how the lasses back at camp will enjoy the tales of my heroic actions, and the proof of my determination and loyalty!" He sighed dramatically, and at the same time his fingers dug a little harder into the wound.

Kent, ever observant, was also no fool, and spotted the movement. "That needs to be treated, immediately," he stated, composed now as his breathing began to return to normal. "How did you get it?"

Sain paused and considered. Truth to tell, the fight had happened so fast he really couldn't remember. After a moment he spoke, his voice more serious and thoughtful than it was previously, but still hoarse from yelling, and now tinged slightly with nearly-concealed pain. "The wyvern," he murmured, after a moment. "It must have been the wyvern I downed. When it landed its tail was lashing about wildly. It must have caught me, but in the rush I didn't notice. Oh!" he called, and his voice grew more dramatic again, "woe is me, attacked by the very wyvern themselves...but such an amazing knight I am, to take such a devastating blow and never notice the pain!" his voice hitched slightly and he grimaced as he exhaled, jarring the wound in his belly.

"Wyvern wounds are serious," Kent reprimanded, standing wearily to retrieve some supplies from his pack. "It needs to be treated _now, _or it will spread disease faster than normal wounds received from steel." His hands emerged from the pack with a small roll of bandages and the healing salve that he always carried with him, just in case. While the camp had healers, it never hurt to be prepared, and sometimes Serra or Priscilla were so busy with the more dangerous wounds that it would be a while before they could treat the less severely injured.

"_You're _too serious," Sain complained in exasperation, but he wasn't about to argue against treating the wound—with each passing second it throbbed more and more painfully. He began to unstrap his green and gold-trimmed breastplate, drawing up his black shirt to expose the wound in question.

Kent grimaced upon examining it, and even Sain, able to feel the pain, was surprised at the extent of the wound's damage. It wasn't dangerously deep, thank Elimine, or it would have pierced vital organs, and no matter the speed at which they rode Sain would have been lost then, two days from the care of the clerics. But it was still deep, slicing through muscle and skin, tantalizingly close to his vitals, and it bled rapidly. And when Kent wiped away the excess blood, using some of the bandages and a few drops of carefully conserved water from his water skin, he found the edges of the gash already beginning to grow red and inflamed from infection.

"How is it?" Sain hissed slightly, flinching a little as his fellow knight brushed carefully at the wound. No matter how gently the redhead cleared the blood away, the wound was still highly sensitive and growing more painful by the minute.

Kent sighed. "You're lucky you're not dead," he stated flatly, as he continued to clean the injury. "A demon's luck, you have—this missed your vitals by only a few hairs." Sain grinned slightly around his grimace, beginning to make another dramatic remark, but his friend cut him off. "But it's already growing infected," he muttered. "Damn wyvern spines. We need to get you to Serra or Priscilla as quickly as possible. Even to one of the other magic users—anyone who knows something of healing."

"Surely it can't be that bad," Sain countered, with a hoarse chuckle. "Look how tiny it is! And I barely feel a thing," he added, through clenched teeth, completely destroying his bald-faced lie within seconds. Kent shook his head in exasperation and applied his salve carefully, then began binding the wound.

A few minutes later he stood, repacking the salve and bandages into his saddlebags once more before beginning to remove saddle and other burdens from his horse. Sain tucked his shirt neatly back into place (he was ever conscious about his looks, and stressed the importance of a neat and dashing noble knight, completely contradicting with his messy unkempt hair) and made as if to rise, but Kent gestured for him to sit again.

"Rest," he said sharply, as he placed the saddle quietly on the ground and removed the last of the supplies he'd been carrying. "Perhaps you don't feel a thing right now," he added, giving Sain a wry look, "but you will in a while, and you'll need to save your strength for then." Sain looked as if to protest, but at Kent's no-nonsense glare he gave another dramatic sigh and nodded.

"Alas! I can do nothing against your reasoning in my condition." He grinned again, the look dulled slightly by a twitch of pain, but at least, Kent noted somewhat dryly, he was still in as good a humor as ever.

"Of course," the blood-and-gold armored knight answered, sounding perfectly serious, as he turned to attend to Sain's horse.

They rested in the dense rock outcropping for an hour, Kent rubbing down the horses and murmuring reassuringly to them before sitting down across from Sain on one of the many large rocks, leaning back against a boulder to rest his back. Both of the cavaliers kept an eye on the skies as best as they could through the dense stone ceilings, and occasionally they could hear the scream of a wyvern over their position, but they were effectively concealed in their present location and tried not to worry too much. The horses, sensing wariness but not anxiety from their masters, remained much the same—watchful, but not panicked.

After an hour, in which all of them gained their breath and cooled their parched throats with what little water they had, Kent stood stiffly and began re-saddling the horses. The steeds were uncomplaining and submitted to the re-saddling quietly, though doubtless they wished to rest longer. But they understood the danger, and the quicker they were free of the mountains and back to camp, the safer they would be, and so they only tossed their heads slightly and kept their ears swerving for signs of the wyvern.

Sain slowly and painstakingly strapped his armor back on, carefully avoiding jarring his new wound too much, though Kent could see easily that too much movement about his waist and torso pained him. Still, he managed to return the emerald and gold breastplate to its rightful place without too much difficulty, and he only grimaced for a moment when he stood. Swinging into his saddle was a more difficult affair, and he could not manage it completely without a hiss, nearly inaudible as it was.

Still, Kent was observant, and he had been watching for such signs. Best to let Sain take it easy, he decided, as he swung up on his own mount and took the lead, guiding them through the dense rock paths.

The sun was long past its zenith by now, and mid afternoon was considering its slow transformation into evening. Kent kept his eye on the sun as best as he could through the cracks and spaces of the rock formations about them, trying to gage their location. The wild flight down the slopes had taken him away from the more familiar paths that he had traveled before, but he was confident he could find their way down the mountain and back to camp. Indeed, had it not been for Sain's injury, he would not have been concerned with rushing at all—they were not in want of food, for both could hunt, and it would have been best to move slowly and under cover to avoid the wyvern riders that were doubtless still out there.

Sain returned to his friendly chattering, hoping to break the eerie echoing silence and echoing of the horse's hooves as they clopped on the stone. But he was quieter now, his voice more subdued and hoarse, and broken occasionally with small grimaces as a particular jolt of his horse's movements shot too sharply into his gut. Still, despite his obvious discomfort, he spoke cheerfully of his valiant actions and the tales of his favorite hero—himself--that he would share with the lovely lasses once they had returned to Lyndis' Legion.

Kent, normally prone to ignoring Sain's rants—or possibly wishing to knock him about the head with his lance for them—now kept an ear on the rambling. It was certainly not for the content, for he'd had enough of Sain's stories of his own valiant deeds, and women, to last him the next six months. But he could gage Sain's condition by the number of breaks in his stories, or the hoarseness in his voice, and he needed to make sure his best friend did not overexert himself for the time being.

Eventually, as the sun's rays squeezing through the spaces of stone slid gracefully from bright sunshine to molten reds, oranges and pinks, Kent's eyes began to scour their path for some sort of shelter for the night. He found it shortly, ahead and to his left—a particular cropping of rocks and boulders, carved into a rocky slope face, created a natural cave with an equally natural ceiling that would protect them from the elements and provide a safe place to rest for man and beast alike.

He guided his mount over to the cave, and Sain's horse followed obediently—Kent was not entirely sure that Sain was guiding the creature anymore. The redhead swung down from his steed with practiced grace and examined the cavern carefully, making sure they were safe from unwanted animal visitors, but the rocky shelter had been abandoned for weeks from the look of it. The knight proclaimed it safe and turned just in time to see his fellow cavalier stumble down from his horse, a deep grimace on his face as he pressed his hands to his stomach.

Frowning, the red-clad knight stepped over to his friend, supporting him carefully and guiding him into the cave. He set him down against one cavern wall, ignoring Sain's feeble protests, and gave him a flat look as he spoke. "Stay here," he said simply. "Just rest. I'm going to gather enough supplies for us to light a proper fire to see by in here, and then I want to take a look at that injury again."

Sain looked like he was going to argue—dramatically, as always—but was halted abruptly with a grimace as his injury throbbed again. He sighed and leaned back gratefully against the stone at his back and nodded. "Alright, then. I'll wait here." Even in his pained state, he seemed intent on making the action sound like _his _decision. Kent gave a slight sigh of exasperation, but let Sain have his moment while he looked into more important things.

Finding sufficient kindling for a night's fire was difficult, but Kent managed before it grew too dark to see by outside, and an hour after they had stopped a flame was blazing merrily within the cavern, close to one edge of the cave. Kent unsaddled the horses once more, bringing their supplies inside to the back of their night's shelter, and then removed the bandages, salve and water as he once more examined Sain's injury.

He was appalled by what he saw. It had only been six or so hours, he estimated, since Sain had received the wound, but already it was festering badly, and the edges that had once shown only a mild indication of infection were now surrounded by angry, red, inflamed skin. The wound had not closed either, constantly jarred as it was by Sain's riding, and while the bandages had lessened the blood flow they were now damp and red. Kent frowned as he cleaned the wound of excess blood once more, applied the salve, and re-bandaged the injury. Sain had seen the progression of the gash, but appeared too tired to ask about it.

"You rest, tonight," Kent ordered firmly, once he had finished with the nasty business of the cleaning. "I'll take care of camp, and take watch."

"But you can't!" the emerald knight argued, shaking his head slightly. "You need to rest too, after the attack...and you wouldn't let a dashing knight such as myself be separated from his noble duties, now would you?" He flashed a grin and tried to sound cheerful, but the grin twisted with a grimace and died, and his voice was hoarse and tense with pain that now could not be concealed.

"I can, and I will," Kent said firmly. "Rest. You need all the strength you can gather. I'll keep watch." Sain gave a tired sigh, but did not argue further, only slumped back even more into the stone wall behind him.

Kent did as promised, preparing a meal for the two and making sure both horses were well tended for. But Sain could eat little now—a factor that sent warning bells ringing in Kent's mind, for Sain had quite a healthy appetite—and only requested water quietly. The redheaded knight offered his own water skin to his friend, having filled it earlier after finding a small stream while searching for firewood, and did some hasty calculations in his mind.

It would take them two more days to reach Lyndis and the others, if both of them had been in excellent condition. But Sain was injured now, doubtless would be unable to move as fast, and Kent himself would no doubt suffer from exhaustion as well after pulling all-nighters to keep watch. This would be difficult, and he wondered...would they make it?

Sain gave a soft groan as he shifted, and Kent broke from his thoughts as he watched his friend move into a slightly more comfortable sitting position. Laying down, apparently, was going to be too painful and stressful on his wound, so it seemed he would be sleeping sitting up for the night. The redhead watched quietly as the emerald knight leaned his head back against the stone, murmuring slightly to himself before slowly drifting off, his face spasming with twitches of pain every once and a while. His breathing was still hoarse, while Kent's had recovered some time ago.

The blood-red knight sighed and shifted his own position as well. He absently poked the fire and adding a little more kindling, staring out into the darkness and wondering if this was a race he could truly win.

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Parts two and three are written and, upon editing, will be posted as well. Until then, enjoy, and thank you for reading! If you leave a review, kindly give it some substance—tell me what you liked, what you didn't, what parts you thought worked well, what you might improve, etc. A good critical review works wonders in my literary improvement!

And if you are wondering at the title, it stems from a song of the same name by _Muse_, which was listened to heavily in the writing of this fiction.

Velkyn Karma


	2. Black Holes and Revelations

**Knights of Cydonia**

Part two of a fanfiction by Velkyn Karma

Disclaimer: I do not own, or pretend to own, the _Fire Emblem _game series or any of its subsequent characters, plots or other ideas. That right belongs solely to Nintendo and Intelligent Systems. The only thing here that's mine is the idea for the story.

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"Life is mostly froth and bubble,  
Two things stand like stone,  
Kindness in another's trouble,  
Courage in your own." _  
-_Adam Lindsay Gordon

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It rained that night, a harsh storm that swept the mountainside, lightning bursting in streaks and thunder smashing in nature's unbridled fury. Kent was awake for all of it, watching the torrents of water outside their small shelter, occasionally flickering to life with another lightning burst, fighting the weariness that tugged at his eyes.

He doubted there would be a wyvern attack in the rain—the creatures would be unable to fly, and were heavily vulnerable to the lightning—but he forced himself to remain awake for Sain. His fellow knight was becoming an increasingly stronger worry in his mind with each passing hour, and Kent was seriously beginning to wonder if he would be able to get his friend to the safety of the camp before it was too late.

Sain had slept unusually solidly through the coming of the storm—unusually, for he was a surprisingly light sleeper—and Kent had suspected there was more to it than just gentle rest. He had shaken the emerald knight awake several times during the night as a result, mostly to reassure himself that Sain still _could _wake up with a little persuasion. The knight had grumbled and complained good-naturedly at first, warning Kent that he "shouldn't disturb a noble, dashing knight's beauty rest," but as the wakings continued he grew increasingly more cross and, even after that, pleading, beginning to crave the deep, unconscious sleep that shielded him from the pain of his injury for a few hours.

In between the evenly spaced moments of waking, Kent tried to plan a strategy to get them both off the mountain. They had to remain under the shelter of the rock outcroppings, or the trees, to avoid the wyvern—that much was unmistakably certain. But it would be slow and hazardous going, especially with the rain; the paths would be slippery and the footing unsure, and riding hurt Sain too badly for him to continue such a trek for too long. It would be slow going...too slow, he feared.

Could he leave Sain here, speed ahead to get help perhaps? He could make the journey down in a day and a half if he truly rushed, forced himself and his horse to their limits. But no, that wasn't an option in the slightest; if he left Sain behind without care, the man would surely die, succumbing to his injuries or to the elements before Kent could get the healers back to him. And even then, there was no guarantee he would be able to lead them straight back to wherever he left Sain—it was far too easy to get lost in the mountains.

Sain would have to come with him...and they would have to push fast, as fast as they could, if he had any hope of survival. Kent sighed. His only option, then, was to be absolutely sure he had plenty of supplies to care for his friend until they reached the clerics.

He had rummaged through his supplies at one point, frowning. The bandages would run out fairly quickly, if the way Sain's wound bled was any indication; he would have to keep replacing them constantly, and would soon run out. But he could always tear up his blanket or cloak to make new bandages if necessary, so that wasn't much of an issue. Water they now had in abundance (he glared outside at the torrents of rain as they were lit by another flash). The salve worried him, though. Its properties were powerful, and Lucius had blessed the ointment with the powers of St. Elimine, strengthening its healing capacity. But even so, the best it could do was hold the infection and blood loss in Sain's wound back, not stop it. And he was running low...he would have to use it sparingly, or there wouldn't be enough.

He sighed, watching the rain dwindle from a raging downpour to a light drizzle, and then a simple mist, just as the sun stretched its first finger of light across the horizon. Pulling himself stiffly to his feet, the red haired knight began to pack up the camp, saddling the horses, leaving Sain untouched for the moment. The knight would need all the rest he could gather for the journey today, one that would unquestioningly be an agonizing experience for him.

But at last he could wait no longer, and anxious to begin the journey towards help, he strapped on his armor, collected the salve and bandages once more, and then moved to gently shake Sain awake. The other knight groaned in protest, twisted feebly away, and then awoke with a sharp, pained intake of breath as he jarred the injury in his stomach.

"We need to move," Kent stated quietly, his voice stern but not reprimanding, as it normally would have been had Sain protested any other day upon awakening. "Let me look at that wound first."

Sain did not protest—he did not seem to have the energy to—and Kent lifted his shirt carefully before unwrapping the bloodied bandages and examining the wound once again. Not bleeding quite so badly, but still angry and red, the gash seemed to gape and glare at him in defiance. He washed it once more, applied the salve carefully, and re-bandaged the wound without a word. Rather disturbingly, Sain said nothing either.

The emerald knight refused the cold breakfast Kent offered him, insisting only that he was thirsty, and after drinking his fill from one of the skins he moved wearily to strap on his green armor. Kent grabbed his arm to stay him—carefully, but firmly—and shook his head. "No."

"But the wyvern--"

"We need to stay undercover," Kent responded simply. "They won't be able to attack us. Even if they could, in our present situation we would be unable to escape anyway; armor would do little good." Sain understood the half-truth of that statement—_Kent _would be able to escape, if he wanted to, while Sain would be vulnerable. But Sain knew that his partner was too loyal and duty-bound a knight to abandon a friend in a time of need, and understood that if the wyvern attacked, they would live or die together—there would be no abandonment now.

"The armor will jar your injury too much," Kent continued, collecting the emerald-and-gold trimmed metal and carefully binding it, tying the bundle to Sain's horse. "You need as little stress on that wound as possible."

"Right." Sain attempted a grin, but it melted away wearily and was replaced by a grimace that was becoming a far too common expression on his face. "Sure." He stumbled over to his horse, attempting weakly to mount the steed without injuring himself further as Kent packed away the salve and bandages. His strength seemed to have waned considerably, however, and after watching for a few moments the redhead sighed and, pitying his friend, helped him onto the horse.

"Imagine the atrocity of it all!" Sain bewailed weakly, a touch of his dramatic tone evident amidst the pain that tainted his voice. "A brave cavalier of Caelin, unable to ride his noble steed without the help of another to lift him up!"

"Relax, 'brave cavalier of Caelin,' " Kent answered, swinging up onto his own horse and glancing back at Sain. "If you wasted all your strength mounting your horse, you would have nothing left for the ride itself." He tried to sound in control, matter-of-fact, tried to remain optimistic about Sain's joking and dramatic flairs. But he could tell Sain's heart was not in it today, and considered that a very dark sign.

After glancing back once more to reassure himself that Sain was safely upon his horse, Kent swung his own steed around and and began the long, time-consuming task of picking their path down the mountain. As he had predicted, the rocks were slippery with rain, and many of the footholds were loosened by the water, sending dangerous cascades of mud and slick pebbles sliding down at their horses' hooves. It forced them to move carefully, with Kent frequently dismounting to test the stability of the ground before he lead his and Sain's horses through the passes. The going was frustratingly slow, Kent thought irritably to himself, keeping a wary eye on the blocked sky above them, and another on his friend.

Not only were the paths dangerous, forcing them to move at a snail's pace, but Sain required frequent stops to rest as well. Though he did his best to conceal his pain, valiantly swallowing his complaints at the injury and the trek, Kent could see far too easily that the jolting of the horse's movements and the strength necessary to remain on horseback were eating at him. The cavalier's face was growing paler as the day progressed, and when he had gone back to check the wound around mid-morning, the redheaded knight had noticed a fine sheen of sweat dampening his friend's forehead.

Kent did not have to be a healer to know the signs of an infection-induced fever, and this was a very dangerous sign.

But Sain continued to avoid complaining, as any gallant and noble knight should, and Kent continued to provide his friend with the best care he could manage, water for his parched throat, and a wary eye out for enemies and safe trails alike.

By noon, Kent was pleased to see that, despite their snail's pace over the rocks, they were closing on the forested sides of the mountain, and would arrive at the trees within an hour or two at their present pace. He decided to view this as a good sign, for it meant they were closer to the base of the mountain than its peak now, and that meant they were ever closer to the aid that Sain now so desperately needed. Not only that, but with the sun baking down on them the rocks were beginning to dry, allowing them to accelerate their pace a little. The blood-knight was glad for this, though the added speed jarred Sain more painfully—the faster they could get off the mountain, the faster they could reach the camp.

Close to two hours later, after two short stops for Sain, they had reached the end of the rock outcroppings. This was a critical juncture, for there were nearly two hundred yards of barren, open sky and land between the shelter of the rocks and that of the trees, a perfect ambush zone for any waiting wyvern who could have possibly predicted their path. Kent fretted over what movement to take next, but there was no way to skirt around the outer edges of the clearing—they would have to go in the open, and their only hope was to gallop straight across at a dead run, outrunning potential airborne enemies.

He explained the situation to Sain, who nodded quietly in agreement as they waited at the edges of the stone. Kent let him rest a few minutes, rebuilding his strength before the dash, frowning at his friend quietly.

Quiet. There had been too much quiet; for the first time that Kent could ever recall, Sain had _not _spent the morning talking about his past flirts, future love interests, or daring adventures. He had been near silent, only muttering, hissing or groaning occasionally in reaction to his stomach wound, or responding in noncommittal words or grunts when Kent questioned him to keep him active. The silence, coupled with the image of Sain slumped dejectedly in his saddle, roguish grin gone and eyes full of nothing but fatigue and pain, had been the first spark to kick Kent from solid worry to mild panic.

Returning to the matter at hand, Kent eyed the sky carefully, noting the lack of flighted creatures, and nodded to Sain. "Go ahead. I'll follow behind and act as a rear guard for you in case they ambush." Sain only nodded again in noncommittal response and kicked his horse forward, swaying heavily with the sudden momentum and digging his currently un-gloved hands into his horse's mane to keep a firm grip. His frown deepening, the redheaded knight nudged his own horse forward and wondered how much longer Sain would be able to keep his seat.

The mad dash across the clearing was hard and fast, Kent following several paces behind Sain, lance at the ready, all his senses attuned to the scream and swish of the wyvern as they dived to attack. But there was nothing but the wind whistling past his ears, and the thud of the horse's hooves as they shot forward into the tree line and relative safety. Kent wasn't about to argue the situation, glad that no attack had come, but something felt vaguely wrong about the lack of screaming, diving lizard riders, something...foreboding.

But he had little time to think about that now, as he strapped his lance back into position and trotted up to Sain. The cavalier's horse had come to a halt, tossing its head anxiously, and Sain was doubled over in the saddle, all but lying on his steed's back and neck, both hands pressed to the devastating wound that he carried. Sweat sheened brightly on his face as his eyes slid sideways, glancing at Kent, and he attempted the ghost of a smile that barely escaped its grave before being mauled by the grimace of sheer pain on his face.

Kent helped him down from the horse and allowed him to rest for three-quarters of an hour after the mad flight that had jarred the injury so badly. Sain spent his time leaning against a tree trunk, a fine shivering consuming him as his fever pitched higher, half dozing, half delirious from its effects. Kent cleaned and dressed the wound once more, allowing himself a larger amount of the salve than usual to combat the heightened infectious effects of the wound, and then carefully pressed a cloth, wet with cool water from the skins, to the emerald knight's forehead to help with the fever heat.

After Sain had recovered from the strenuous ride, his friend helped him stand and once more guided him to his horse to mount. Yet despite the burning skin of his forehead, the fine shivering that had possessed him remained, weakening him until he could barely stand. Kent, now growing deeply concerned, removed one of the blankets from his pack and wrapped his friend in it securely, helping him back up onto the horse and standing next to the creature carefully for several minutes to make sure he could retain his balance.

Sain held on gamely, determined to do what he could to get them out of there, though he was so tired he could barely see straight and could hardly think to grin or give a cheerful comment of reassurance. "I'm alright," he murmured to Kent in a hoarse whisper, nudging his friend's hand away when he swayed in the saddle, and the redhead moved to steady him. "Let's get moving." No dashing comment, no dramatic flair, just a simple statement. He was spiraling rapidly now.

Kent looked rather grim, but nodded. "Very well, then," he responded briskly. "Just follow me." And, turning, he swung up on his own horse and lead the way down the paths, Sain wearily nudging his horse into a canter after him.

They moved slowly at first, the blood-and-gold knight regulating their pace to pick their way among the roots and branches in the path. He moved slowly, too, to allow Sain further time to recover; even after close to an hour, the man still looked weakened, unfit to move for long, and Kent wanted to relieve the stress on his body and his wound as much as possible. He glanced behind him at his friend constantly, judging his condition and pace, coming to a halt to let him rest when necessary, frequently letting his horse drop back to ride alongside Sain when the path was clearer to check his fever or the condition of the bloodied bandages that encased the wound. There was no doubt in the redhead's mind that he was getting worse by the hour.

Two hours later, the paths began to clear more regularly, and Kent unhesitatingly picked up the pace, wanting to put as much distance behind them in the woods as he could. Sain increased his pace as well, drawing the blanket tightly around himself to combat the chill he felt piercing to his bones, barely containing the soft cries that clawed at his throat as the added bob of the horse shot through his stomach like a hot poker. He was determined not to slow his friend down, desperate not to draw his attention, trying to relieve as much stress from his partner as possible so that he could think with a clear head and save them both.

He did not indicate when he'd hit his limit, but Kent became suddenly aware of it when he heard a soft _thud _behind him on the paths, and Sain's horse nickered and drew to a halt. Turning to look over his shoulder, he spotted Sain on the ground, curled up where he'd finally fallen from the horse, gasping as quietly as he could with his hands pressed to his stomach.

Kent actually cursed, a rarity for him, and reigned his horse to a halt, swinging off in one motion and darting to his friend. Kneeling, he gently but firmly shifted his fellow knight to sit against one of the nearby trees on the side of the path, shaking his head in frustration as he eyed the wound, which was still bleeding sluggishly. "Dammit, Sain, why didn't you say anything?"

"Can't...can't hold us up," the emerald knight managed to rasp out, one hand to his stomach, the other feebly pulling the blanket closer around him as a shudder passed through his body.

"Idiot," the redhead grated in response, fighting the need to all-out lecture his friend, "if you kill yourself falling from your horse in that state, there'll be little need to rush anyway!" Sain flinched, both in pain and at the harsh tone in his fellow knight's voice, and Kent sighed, softening his tone slightly. "If you need to rest, we'll rest. Just let me know."

"R...right," Sain panted. He was silent for several moments, leaning against the tree to relieve pressure on his stomach wound, and then he muttered softly, "thirsty..."

Kent silently produced his water skin for the feverish knight, making sure Sain drank sparingly lest he make himself further sick, and then waited rather impatiently for the emerald knight to gather his strength again. He knew Sain needed to rest, or he'd never survive the remainder of the journey, but all the same the blood-knight couldn't suppress the feeling that they had to keep moving, moving, _moving, _before it was too late.

Sain was allowed to rest for another half an hour, most of the time spent in a light, feverish doze, and then his fellow knight crouched beside him, nudging him awake. "Come on," Kent murmured gently, "it's time to go." The emerald knight twitched awake with a groan but nodded quietly and struggled to stand.

He couldn't, Kent realized grimly, as he watched his weakened friend for another few moments. Sain's shivering muscles trembled with the effort of lifting his own body weight, and even when Kent slung one of his friend's arms over his shoulder to pull him to his feet, the emerald knight leaned so heavily into his friend's support that his companion realized just how much his strength was deteriorating. If he let go, Sain's legs would unquestioningly buckle beneath him, he was shaking so badly.

"You can't ride like this," Kent muttered in frustration, shaking his head again. "You'll fall off in minutes."

"S...sorry," his weakened friend chattered in reply, another chill striking him so badly that his whole body shuddered harder. "I can try to...hold on..."

But his friend only shook his head again and set Sain once more down by the tree. "Rest for a few more minutes," he ordered, and Sain was all too glad to obey, pulling the blanket tighter about him to try and ease his trembling.

He hadn't realized he was falling into a fever-induced doze until he felt movement around him, and found Kent wrapping the second blanket—his own—around the first, adding a little extra warmth to combat his shivering. Slightly more aware with the presence of the extra heat, he blinked and quietly watched as Kent turned away from him and proceeded to transfer most of his supplies from his own horse to Sain's, checking and rechecking the fastenings and belts to make sure everything was securely in place. The horse looked slightly irritated at being relegated from proud warrior to pack animal, but beyond the tossing of its head and a stamping hoof or two, it remained uncomplaining.

"What are you..." Sain began, but coughed slightly from the hoarseness in his throat, and then doubled over in pain as the cough lanced through his wound. When the painful fit was over, he looked up wearily at his fellow knight, asking the question with his eyes instead.

Kent watched the fit sympathetically, but waited until it was over before answering. "You'll have to ride with me," he stated, matter-of-factly. "You can't walk or ride, and you won't be able to keep up any other way. But my horse can't take your weight _and _our supplies, so your horse is going to have to pitch in as well."

"Surely...I do not..." Sain started to argue, but clamped his mouth shut when he felt another cough approaching. He would have added some sort of comment about a 'dashing knight needing no help such as that,' Kent supposed, but was too ill now to have the heart for such jest.

"If you can suggest another way to get you back to camp, I'll listen," Kent answered simply, as he tied the reins of Sain's horse to his own saddle, "but there's no other way to get you back safely that I can think of, and we need to hurry." He did not add the _before you succumb to your wound and die of fever,_ but both understood the implication.

Sain seemed to understand too well. He rasped softly, "I wonder...Kent...if I will truly--"

"If you start speaking like that," Kent cut him off stiffly, knowing the direction of his best friend's mind, and hurrying to forestall it, "I'll have to beat you abut the head with your own lance."

The emerald knight attempted a weak smile, though it was barely visible amidst the grimace of agony on his face. "Aaah...you truly never did...understand the...true beauty or...use for a lance...my friend," he whispered, attempting a weak joke.

"My true calling is the sword," Kent responded simply, and satisfied with the tethering, he returned to Sain's side. "Here, let me help you up," he added, bending down and slinging the emerald knight's arm around his shoulders, pulling him up, helping him stagger weakly over to Kent's horse.

"You'll have to hold on for a few seconds," the redhead said, after a moment's thought, "until I can get on as well." He was strong from his years of training as a Knight of Caelin, but he did not overestimate his strength, and though Sain was lighter than him—and even more so when devoid of his armor, as he was now—Kent was sure he would not be able to lift the other knight up from his mounted position. Instead, he boosted Sain up onto the horse's back, and the feverish knight clung weakly to the creature's mane until Kent could swing up behind him.

Settling comfortably in the saddle took a little longer; both were grown men, and the saddle was not quite made for a comfortable two-person ride. In addition, Sain was forced to sit back against his friend so that Kent could get a firm grip to keep him steady, or risk him slumping forward in the saddle and falling to the paths below. The presence of his injury only made things more difficult, as well—Kent was unable to keep a firm hold on him around the waist without putting his left arm dangerously close to the injury, jarring it further, and so had to find some other means of securing Sain on the horse.

In the end, however, they finally settled on a somewhat comfortable seating arrangement, Sain scooting forward as best as he could in the saddle so that he leaned back at an angle, which allowed Kent to successfully secure him around the torso and not the waist. It was probably, the red-armored knight noted, extraordinarily uncomfortable for Sain's head, which was resting rather limply against his breast- and shoulder-plates, but there was little he could do about that. He absolutely refused to remove his armor—contrary to what he had told Sain earlier about his friend's own emerald armor, if it came down to a fight with the wyvern Kent wanted as much of an advantage as he could garner, and that meant the protective plates stayed, uncomfortable or no.

And so, after rearranging the blankets around Sain's shivering, feverish form more comfortably, they continued their travels down the mountain forest paths. Kent urged his horse at as quick a pace as he could, and found that if he shifted his hold on the injured knight in front of him in a specific way, he could lessen the stress put on the wound with the gait of his mount. Discovery made, he pressed on even a little faster, considering traveling through the night—the paths were sufficiently clear enough to chance the hazard, perhaps lighting a torch if necessary.

But his hopes of reaching the camp by mid-morning the next day were dashed with the approach of rolling black storm-clouds, approaching from the northwest. Kent silently cursed Bern weather—it changed _far _too rapidly for its own good—and hastily cast about for shelter, collecting kindling from the trees as he passed. If the storm came too quickly, the wood would all be wet, and Sain most certainly needed a fire if he was to survive the night.

_No, not if, _Kent berated himself sharply, determined to think along a more positive light. If he was pessimistic, Sain certainly would be lost—Kent was his last chance at life, and it wouldn't do to loose hope now.

He located a shelter barely in time, a small dug-out area near a little mountain stream, with dense forest and large boulders to provide shelter from above. It was not as pleasant as the cave he had located last night, but it would keep Sain and himself warm and dry and allow for a fire, while the horses would suffer little from the wind and rain thanks to the large boulders and tree cover.

He half-supported, half-carried Sain inside, laying him down flat on what little ground was available in the cramped space, and had just managed to relieve the horses of their supplies and bring them to the dry safety of the cave before the storm struck and the downpour began.

It was a miserable night that they spent there. The horses shied and screamed in the storm, and Kent had to tether them in place to assure that they would remain there the next morning—if he lost the horses now, there would be no hope of escaping the mountains. The wind battered into the dugout shelter, slapping at his pitifully small fire as if attempting to put it out with a vengeance, and the blood-knight did everything in his power to keep the tiny collection of warmth and light alive, to keep them warmed and dry.

Worse still was Sain. His fever was pitching to new heights, and he burned to the touch, yet shivered with such cold that Kent had added one of their cloaks to the collection of wrappings keeping the poor knight warm. Sweat trickled on his brow, and he spent most of the night tossing and turning, slipping in and out of consciousness, in and out of delirium. Kent wasn't sure which state he preferred—when asleep, Sain was deathly silent, causing his friend to worry once again whether or not he would ever wake, yet when he did he cried out softly in pain from the wound in his stomach that plagued him.

Kent did not sleep at all. He wondered where he had found the strength to stay awake, fully conscious, fully aware, but had little time to truly question the source. He spent the night battling the wind for the life-giving flame, bathing Sain's sweating forehead with cooling water, checking and re-checking the wound that was slowly eating the emerald knight alive.

When morning came, the red knight found it almost a relief—it was light, and though misty, no longer raining. They would be able to continue, and if he pushed hard he would be able to reach the base of the mountains today. He stood wearily, and while his muscles and body screamed for rest—_just a light doze, just a little nap, just a little rest, a little, just a little—_his headstrong and loyal, logical mind took control, squeezed a little more strength from his tired body, and set to work breaking camp.

He had the horses saddled and loaded in ten minutes, strapped on his armor, filled the water skins at the stream, and then threw on his own cloak in the misty dawn chill before waking Sain. The knight was barely aware of his surroundings anymore, truly conscious of only his terrible pain and biting chill, but he had enough sense left in him to obey quietly as Kent helped him to his horse and boosted him up onto the saddle. His strength was so far gone that he barely kept on the horse long enough for his red-armored friend to swing up behind him before slipping, and Kent was forced to catch him, rather dangerously close to his injury, to stop him from crashing to the ground at his horse's hooves.

Kent frowned as he rearranged them comfortably in the saddle once more, doing most of the work himself—Sain was by now as limp as a rag doll. Truth to tell, a part of him deep down was amazed that Sain had actually lived through the night...he was so sure, at many points that night, that his best friend would drop off to sleep and never wake up again.

_But he made it,_ he reprimanded himself sharply, _so stop thinking of such things! He's relying on you to get him through this now, and we're so close...we will make it out of here, and both of us alive._

He once again arranged Sain's cloak and blankets around him more comfortably, feeling the chilled tremors through both the thick layers of cloth and his own armor, and then swept his own cloak about the two of them—perhaps his own body heat, contained in the cloak, would keep his friend warm long enough to reach the camp tonight. Then, checking the reins of Sain's horse one last time, tied securely to his saddle, he kicked his own steed and set off once more down the paths.

Now that he could all but see his friend so close to death, Kent kicked up a vigorous pace, determined to reach the mountain base by nightfall. It was a reckless maneuver, for the paths were once again slippery from the rain, and partially obscured by the mist, but the red-headed knight realized he had little choice left. Sain was barely hanging on as it was—he spent most of his time deeply unconscious, resurfacing only occasionally into wakefulness, and almost rarely lucid when he did so. He could no longer hide his groans and soft cries of pain whenever his wound was shifted badly, and although Kent did his best to relieve the pressure of the ride or hold him as carefully as possible, the pain proved impossible to avoid.

It was a quiet journey, silent but for the sounds of the animals in the trees and the thud of the horse's hooves down the path, but he knight found himself surprisingly loathing the silence. _How ironic,_ he thought to himself quietly, _that I would have given anything for silence such as this two days ago, but now..._but now, it was an all-too-potent reminder of his friend's condition, and the time that was quickly running out.

To counter the silence, Kent found himself talking to his feverish friend whenever he had the chance, whenever Sain was conscious, lucid or no. If he could pull Sain into a conversation, keep him conscious and aware, thinking of answers for even the smallest amount of time, then the red-armored knight considered it another small victory in sustaining Sain's life even a moment longer. Rarely was Sain able to respond, and never in his dramatic and excitable manner, but Kent did his best.

"I suppose this will make a fantastic story when you get back to the camp, will it?" the redhead questioned, ducking underneath a low-hanging branch as his horse darted down the forest paths at a dangerous speed for the terrain.

There was a noncommittal grunt of response from Sain, but Kent took this as a good sign. "And I imagine it will have all your 'lovely ladies' crowding for your attention. I'm sure you'd like that, wouldn't you?" He glanced down at Sain's head, the only visible part of him from the swath of cloaks and blankets, thudding against his red armor quietly. There was a glitter of understanding in his eyes, some shadow of the roguish laughter that would have followed such a comment from Kent in any other situation, but he did not respond, too exhausted to force words from his throat.

"And knowing you," Kent continued, now mostly talking for his own sake, trying to keep the flicker of panic in the corner of his mind from truly surfacing, "you'll use the opportunity to flirt with every single one of them. Who will it be first, hmm? Serra, Rebecca, the Lady Lyndis? I'm sure you wouldn't mind Fiora either, if she joined with our camp after we met with her a few days ago." He swerved around another outreaching branch and glanced down again, only to find Sain's eyes closed; he'd passed out once more. Falling into the silence that he had begun to sincerely hate, Kent hurried along, hoping they were making good time.

He stopped several times that day to check on Sain's injury, using up the last of the salve just a little while past noon. The emerald knight used the brief checks to rest outside of the saddle, free of the bouncing movement of the horse's gait, but they never stopped for long—without the hour-long rests, Kent was sure they would make it to the base of the mountain at dusk, moving at this breakneck pace.

And so they continued, moving quickly, Sain slipping in and out of consciousness at increasingly irregular intervals. Kent's spark of panic was growing larger in his mind, for Sain was beginning to spend more of his moments of wakefulness in a deeply delirious state, murmuring to people that weren't there, of events that had never happened. Only rarely was he even aware that he was riding a horse, or held securely by Kent, beyond understanding the repetitive, jarring pain that plagued him so. The blood-knight arranged the blankets and cloaks more tightly about his friend to hamper his twisting and irritation of the wound further, and hoped they would reach the end of this horrible journey soon.

And then, as the sun began to slip low in the sky and the clouds tinted pinks and oranges once more, they were suddenly _there._ Kent marveled at the sudden speed in which they had come to the base of the mountain—the plains were only a few hundred paces away, and the camp only an hour or two from there. He suspected he had fallen into a half-doze in the saddle, he bore so much exhaustion, but he shook himself more firmly awake and aware as he neared the edges of the plains.

He froze.

The wyvern would still be out there, he realized, and it would be suicide to ride out in the open plains now with six airborne wyvern likely still looking for them. He was skilled, but certainly not enough to ward away six dangerous beasts and their equally dangerous riders while carrying a prone form in one arm. Should he risk the ride?

His instincts screamed no. Night was coming, and the wyvern were adept at tracking in the dark—if he was caught out in the open, unable to see his enemy approaching, they would die near instantaneously. Best to wait until dawn, when the wyvern visibility would be hampered, and he would be able to see the creatures coming at him.

But his logic told him, without question, that he had to leave now. Sain had barely survived last night, and had made it through the hard ride today through the sheer grace of St. Elimine. He would not last another night without the aid of the clerics, Kent was unquestionably certain.

Without another moment's thought, he kicked his horse into a run, Sain's streaming after him, and galloped across the plains towards the camp. _Foolishness,_ his training berated him, _you'll both die now! _But he did not turn back, did not hesitate, only urged his horse to greater speeds.

He kept the horses moving for an hour, slowing to a trot when the creatures could not keep up a full gallop, never stopping. His eyes were constantly on the skies, warily eying the darkening clouds and sunset splotches warily. No sign of the wyvern yet, but he wasn't about to drop his guard now, however close they might be.

He thought he could just spot a smudge in the distance on the open fields—_the camp! They'd made it!_--when his heart suddenly sank as the sounds of six shrieking wyvern erupted from behind him.

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And there you have it, part two. Part three is nearly finished and should be up accordingly, again as soon as it is edited.

Chapter titles are derived, once again, from the titles of songs by _Muse—_just to keep up a pattern.

If you review, please leave a helpful tidbit behind that will improve my writing abilities, whether it be a morsel of constructive criticism or what you thought was done well. Thank you very much for reading!

--Velkyn Karma


	3. Origin of Symmetry

**Knights of Cydonia**

Part three of a fanfiction by Velkyn Karma

And now at last, the conclusion of the story. Thank you very much to all of you who have been following along!

Disclaimer: I do not own, or pretend to own, the _Fire Emblem _game series or any of its subsequent characters, plots or other ideas. That right belongs solely to Nintendo and Intelligent Systems. The only thing here that's mine is the idea for the story.

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"No one's gonna take me alive

The time has come to make things right.

You and I must fight for our rights...

You and I must fight to survive!"

Muse, _Knights of Cydonia_

-----

Doomed. They were doomed. His tactical mind knew it instantly, as he glanced behind him, watching the flying lizards approach rapidly. Their mounts seemed fresh, while his were exhausted, and they had the advantage of the air. He couldn't wield a lance while securing Sain's limp form, only a sword...a pitiful weapon to use against the deadly lances of the wyvern knights.

Nevertheless he kicked his mounts into a dead run, the horses encouraged by the predatory shrieks behind them, and their hooves dug into the dirt for greater speeds. Sain's horse, not laden with two human forms, strained against the reins binding him to Kent's saddle, and with a quick flash he drew his sword and severed the restraints, slapping the creature's rump as it darted past. With luck it would reach the camp...it was only a slight chance, but it gave the blood-knight hope that their lives might still be salvaged.

Sain cried out as the horses accelerated, the mad rush grueling on his injury, and he gripped feebly at the wound with his hands. But it did little good, and as blood slipped past the bandages to his fingers he finally slipped completely under into the world of unawareness. His head fell, utterly limp, against his companion, head cracking painfully against the red armor—not that he was conscious to feel it, Kent had time to vaguely observe.

The redheaded knight's sword was still out, still at the ready, even as he darted towards the rapidly growing smudge. But he was not going to make it in time, he knew grimly. The wyvern were gaining too fast, two already within javelin distance, judging from the shafts that thudded on either side of him.

The first gave a great roar and lunged forward, its rider stabbing his lance towards the fleeing cavalier, and Kent twisted sharply to bat it aside with his sword, hoping to break the blade off. No such luck—the rider laughed and drew his lance back, snapping it sharply to bring down on Kent's wrist. His armor protected him from major injury, but the sword was forced from his hands, dropping to the grassy field below.

This was it, Kent realized, as he gazed up at the rider on the wyvern. The man leered at him, hoping to get some sort of reaction, but Kent, a Knight of Caelin, was determined to face his coming death with dignity, and--

He heard the warning whistle only seconds before he saw it flash over his head, and with a fearsome crack of bone and steel a ballista bolt seemed to erupt from the lead wyvern's chest, over its heart. It shrieked, spun in midair, and crashed onto its back in the fields behind Kent and his horse, crushing its rider beneath it. Had he had any strength or sympathy left, Kent would have grimaced at the gruesome end of the wyvern's master.

He twisted forward in his saddle again, leaning forward to gain more speed, adjusting Sain with his left arm as well as he was able, and urged his horse to move faster, though the beast was already giving everything it could. Ahead of him, the camp was beginning to take distinct shape, and he could see two silhouettes of horses ahead of him growing rapidly closer.

He identified their riders within moments as they approached. Rath sat astride one horse, the light bow of the Kutolah already notched and drawn, and as the blood-knight watched he fired rapidly into the approaching wyvern hoard. The bow was notched and fired almost immediately after the first arrow had left the safety of its string, the plainsman utterly calm as he targeted the moving creatures with speedy grace. Two figures sat on the other horse—Lowen guided his horse rapidly, golden-brown armor glinting in the fading sunlight, while Wil sat astride the creature in back (Kent reminded himself to sincerely thank Rath for teaching the boy how to ride at all). Wil's more powerful bow launched sturdier arrows straight into the bellies of the wyvern, while Rath's numerous arrows punched holes in the weak membranes of the creatures, and between the two of them they were dropping the flying lizards like flies.

"Go on!" Lowen shouted to Kent as they passed, and the blood-red knight did just that, streaming like the wind towards the camp while the others dealt with the wyvern attack. He darted past Hector, Bartre and Dorcas as well, rushing with axes drawn to take on the lance-wielding warriors once they were separated from their mounts, heard the whistle of another ballista bolt over him, and took strength from the reassurance the armored protection brought.

And suddenly, just as before, he was _there _in the middle of the camp, only a few paces from the healer's tent itself, his horse skittering wildly from the rush of people suddenly about it. To Kent it felt like a whirlwind; there was Lyn, grasping at his horse's reins to calm the beast, and there was Fiora further down, already tending to Sain's winded horse—apparently she _was _here after all, now wouldn't Sain be pleased to hear that?

Sain! He glanced down worriedly at the unconscious man, afraid that the mad flight from the wyvern had finally been his undoing. He had heard the cry of pain when the chase had began, but had been too preoccupied with their escape to look into his friend's health, but now...

"A healer," he rasped to Lyn, breathing heavily, exhausted from the crazed run. "Sain. Hurt badly. Now." he tried to catch his breath, too winded to speak in anything more than broken sentences, but Lyn seemed to understand and called for help immediately.

He was amazed at the speed at which they moved—it seemed his exhaustion was kicking in faster than he thought. Within moments Serra was erupting from the healer's tent, and both Eliwood and Marcus were by the horse's side. "Hand him down to us," the Lord was saying, repeatedly Kent realized a bit late, now that his adrenaline was running down. But he obediently shifted the unconscious emerald knight down to the two of them, and they hurried him over to the healer's tent, Serra already running alongside and chanting her clerical prayers rapidly through her focus item—a stave—to begin the healing process.

Kent sat rather dumbly on his horse for a few minutes, desperately trying to regain his breath, and from the steed's head Lyn watched her loyal knight with concern. "Are you going to be alright?" she asked, worried, after several moments. "You're not hurt as well, are you?"

The red-headed knight regained his focus and blinked. "No, I'm fine, Lady Lyndis," he murmured, only barely remembering to treat his Lady with the polite, formal title through his exhaustion. "Just...just a little tired is all."

"We saw Sain's horse come tearing into the camp riderless," Lyn said, by way of explanation. "I thought something might be wrong, and then Matthew spotted the wyvern out there—you know how sharp Mat's eyes are." She gave him a look, as if to ask 'what happened?,' but Kent did not answer, simply swung down off his horse and half stumbled towards the healer's tent.

Lyn grabbed his arm. "You should rest, Kent," she said, her voice again full of concern. "You look half dead."

He shook her arm off distractedly, continued in the direction of the tent, and she followed him hastily. "My Lady," he responded simply, aware that she trailed after him, "I have not gone through all the trouble to keep Sain alive, to be relegated to waiting for news about whether he..." he paused, shook his head wearily, and sighed. "I need to be there until this is finished, regardless...regardless of the outcome."

She watched him with concerned eyes for a few moments more, but then nodded. "I understand," she responded quietly. "I'll look after your horse for you."

She turned away as he stepped into the tent, past Eliwood and Marcus, both of whom were just exiting. They gave him concerned looks as well, but let him be, and he took a seat quietly in the corner of the tent, but in full view of the proceedings.

Sain had since been stretched out on a cot, his shivering uncontrollable, eyes closed and breathing shallow. His black shirt had been removed to expose the ghastly wound, and Serra was now bent over it, chanting softly and prodding the injury with her fingertips as she worked. Lucius, Kent noted, had joined her as well, his own prayers to St. Elimine aiding with the healing process, but from what he could tell the entire procedure was moving extraordinarily slowly.

In the end, the healing took hours, lasting well into the night, and was rather incompletely finished. The wound itself was difficult to knit closed, for it had been left unattended by clerical magics for days—normally Serra or Priscilla healed the battle injuries of their camp within hours, while they were still fairly clean. And once the gash itself was closed, there was still the roaring infection and dangerous fever to be dealt with, something that the healing magics of both Serra and Lucius could little affect. Priscilla was more skilled with such ailments, but she was over the mountain with their other camp to act as the sole healer there, and would not be able to reach them in time.

The healing became so complicated that even Pent and Erk were summoned to volunteer what energies and knowledge they could, and Canas' scholarly knowledge of herbs and other natural remedies was drawn upon to combat the fever. But even then, the process was slow going, and by the time they had expended all their energies Sain still lay in a deep sleep, his forehead hot but no longer burning with illness, buried in a mass of blankets to keep him safely warm.

And then there was nothing left to do but wait, Serra murmured to Kent, who started from his reverie rather suddenly. He had fallen into a half doze in his chair, physically there and watching should something go wrong with the procedure, but not completely aware anymore from his exhaustion.

"It's pointless to sit around here waiting," Serra continued, her normally cheerful-to-annoying personality subdued by the near death she had just prevented. "You're exhausted as well. Get some rest—you need it, and badly."

"And Sain?" he managed to ask through a parched throat, dry from the harsh breathing of the mad dash that seemed so long ago, even now.

"Sleeping, and still sick," she stated bluntly, "but we'll look after him. As long as he takes it easy, he should recover. Now _go sleep,_" she ordered firmly, in a voice that clearly stated she expected to be obeyed.

He was too tired to argue, and so he stumbled from the healer's tent towards his own, which had been hastily re-erected for him upon his return by members of the Legion willing to help in any way possible. Lyn met him halfway, still watching with concern, and asked softly, "how is he?"

"Recovering, Lady," Kent murmured softly, attempting to unbuckle his armor with clumsy, tired fingers as he made his way to the tent.

"Good," Lyn exhaled, sounding relieved. "I was so worried...I feel responsible, for sending the two of you on that mission. I cannot believe what happened...if I had known, I never would have sent you!"

"It is alright, Lady Lyndis," he murmured tiredly in response. "None of us could have predicted the attack." His fingers slipped on the buckles of his armor, and Lyn, pitying him in his fatigued state, helped him peel the red-and-gold trimmed plates off.

"Just rest," she ordered firmly, setting the armor inside his tent gently. "We'll take care of everything now."

"Thank you, My Lady," he managed tiredly, before collapsing to his bedroll. Darkness and sweet, sweet unawareness took him within minutes.

-----

Kent woke from his heavy sleep slowly, groggily dragging himself to his senses as he became aware of his consciousness once more. He did not know how long he had been sleeping, but his entire body ached from the events of the past three days, and he still felt tired and unrested.

Slowly the memories of the mountain journey and the mad rush across the plains drifted back to him, and he groaned again as they flitted through his mind. But they were enough to stir his tired body into action, and with a heavy sigh he lifted himself to his feet, dressed quickly in a new pair of breeches and shirt, and swept out of his tent.

The sky was burning with golds and oranges, and Kent thought for a moment that it might be sunrise, the beginning of a new day. But he soon realized that it was growing darker, and that the camp's fire pits were flickering to life faster and faster around him. That meant he had slept for nearly a full day—why hadn't anyone woken him?

As he passed one of the larger campfires, Lowen hailed him and waved him over to sit by the massive log to one side of the flame. Frowning slightly at the distraction—he wanted to check on Sain's condition, draw whatever news he could about his injured friend—the blood-knight slipped over, sitting quietly. "Yes?"

"Lyndis asked me to prepare some food for you," the young cavalier explained, as he stirred a pot settled neatly over the flame. "You need something nourishing after the past day's events. I thought you'd be waking soon, so I got something ready for you." He brushed his light, greenish hair from his face—little good it did him, settling right back over his eyes as soon as his hand had moved—and then ladled some thick, hearty stew from the pot.

"I really would prefer to--" Kent began, but found the wooden bowl shoved unceremoniously into his hands.

"Check up on Sir Sain?" Lowen finished, with a sympathetic smile. "Not much of a change really—he's still sleeping, though I heard from Serra that his fever's gone down a little." He glanced at the red-headed knight across from him thoughtfully. "It'll do you little good to starve yourself waiting for an answer, so eat! Sain won't notice the difference if you show up in ten minutes instead of now."

Kent sighed, but nodded. "Of course," he said simply, and began eating. Lowen watched for a moment, then returned to the contents of the pot, stirring it a little more before tapping the spoon on the side with a finishing flourish. "Help yourself to as much as you want," he said calmly, and then left to go tend to his horse.

The red knight did, taking seconds and then thirds of the stew, which was filling and revitalizing. He had not truly realized how hungry he was until now, but with his stomach rumbling plaintively he could not help but devour the meal.

When he had finally finished, he left the bowl by the fire and returned to his original course, heading in the direction of the healer's tent. Several fellow army members hailed him, asking about his condition or the events of the past few days, but he politely made excuses to continue with promises of an explanation later, and they let him pass with little argument.

The tent itself was quiet, nearly empty but for Serra and her single patient. She nodded to him when he entered but, unusually serious, returned her attentions to the still prone Sain on the cot, bending over him with the stave focus for her healing prayers. After a few more minutes, in which Sain was bathed in the healing light further, she finally nodded and turned away, heading outside the tent without so much as a word to Kent. Well, he decided, she wasn't a normal cleric, and everyone had long since come to accept her unusual nature.

He watched his unconscious friend for several minutes, his mind once again running over the journey the two had barely endured. He had to admit to himself, Sain looked far better than he had in the past two days, though his skin was still pale, and he showed no signs of awakening any time soon. And when Kent pressed his fingers gently to the other's forehead, the skin was not hot to the touch, only felt a little unnaturally warm—he was recovering from the fever as well. Provided he woke up, he would be fully recovered in a week, perhaps a little more.

Examination complete, the blood knight stood rather awkwardly next to the small cot and his unconscious friend, unsure what to do next. Such visits, he thought with a trace of irritation, were always uncomfortable, and more for the visitor than the patient. Sain was clearly unaware of his presence, and it seemed rather foolish to talk to an unconscious man who would not respond. Logically, his mind told him, there was little point in staying at all, yet he could not quite summon the energy to leave. Perhaps Sain would wake while he was here, and he certainly wanted to be present for that.

But after half an hour of standing in the healer's tent there was still no response from Sain, and his fellow cavalier was beginning to grow restless. It was almost a relief when Serra reappeared and told him, in her no-nonsense, princess-like tone, to leave, shooing him out the tent flap and following to make sure he did not double back.

It was dark out now, perhaps only an hour after sunset, and the camp was alight with fire pits and torches. Some of the camp's inhabitants were still at work, finishing chores or taking their duties on first watch, but most were gathered around the fires in groups, laughing and talking as they ate and relaxed after a day's work. Kent briefly considered joining one of these many fireside collections, but he felt too restless to sit with others, and at any rate he was certainly not interested in being questioned just yet about the trip on the mountains. He passed by the fires and kept as much to the shadows as he could.

He felt exhausted still, and knew he should return to his bedroll. But even as he closed on his tent, he realized he would be unable to sleep, and so turned away, wandering the camp for another few hours, trying to work off his restlessness. The knight watched, silent and observing, as the laughter and merriment within the camp dwindled slowly, soldiers and friends wandering off to their tents to rest for the next day. Those more nocturnal members of the small half-army stayed awake, drifting off to take their positions for the second and third night-watches, and Kent noted briefly a cloaked figure scurrying off through the shadows towards the northwest edge of camp, bordering the mountains—Matthew. _Good,_ he thought to himself quietly; Mat's eyes, as he had proven only yesterday night, were extraordinarily keen, and he would be the most likely to spot more wyvern should they attack.

He wandered still further, stopping briefly where the horses were tethered to tend to his own mount, but the horse had clearly been well cared for in his absence. It nuzzled his head and arm fondly for attention when he arrived, and he stroked the creature's nose absently, but left soon after to allow it some much-needed rest.

Rest...yes, he could use it himself. The blood-knight considered briefly visiting the healer's tent one last time, but it was close to midnight now, and he did not want to disturb his friend's obviously needed recovery time. Feeling suddenly exhausted, he stumbled as quietly as he could to his tent and fell once more into a dreamless slumber.

-----

The next few days passed relatively uneventfully, but for Kent they were nothing but a blur of uncertainty. Despite the passage of time Sain had still not woken up, remaining in a quiet slumber in the healer's tent, and although Serra assured in her usual bluster that the emerald knight would be fine, his fellow cavalier had his doubts. Had Sain lost too much blood in the journey back, forcing him to remain in this deep sleep? Had the infection of the wyvern attack overcome Sain's dwindling strength before they had reached the clerics? Such thoughts plagued the blood knight's mind constantly, and there was a growing fear in his heart that he had struggled for two and a half days on the mountainside only to return Sain to the camp so that he could die in his sleep there.

His worries gave birth to alternate bouts of restlessness and exhaustion, and Kent was amazed that he was so easily worn down when he had barely done any physical work at all in the past two days. While he contributed to the daily chores of the camp—gathering wood and water, tending to the horses, organizing supplies, and occasionally hunting for food—he had not participated in any military activities since he had returned to camp. His restlessness and inability to focus properly had forced him to abandon training until he could regain his composure, and the one night he had volunteered for a night watch he had found himself so unable to pay attention to his surroundings that Heath had been forced to relieve him partway through. Since then, their tactician was careful to avoid placing Kent in any battles, and the one skirmish they had had with a small group of plains bandits in the second day of waiting had found the knight far away and safely back at the camp.

And so, when not helping with the necessary tasks in the encampment, he spent most of his time thinking to himself rather grimly. Though little able to focus on the daily comings and goings of the army around him, he found his mind focusing as sharply on the hard mountain ride as the arrows of Wil or Rebecca on a tiny moving target. The knight replayed the situation constantly, wondering if he could have handled the situation differently, acted more quickly, prevented any tiny detail that had contributed to Sain's present state. Yet no matter how much he berated himself over the situation, he could find no alternative answer, and so he was left with nothing but the sheer hope that his best friend would manage to pull himself through, since Kent could do no more for him.

When the restlessness finally overcame his senses and the exhaustion was too much to bear, he slept. He had not slept so much in years, he mused to himself quietly one night, but he found the rest blissfully refreshing, hours when he did not have to think about the situation, fret over what could have been done, or worry for his best friend's livelihood. Yet even then, this release only lasted so long, and when he woke he often felt worse than when he had lain down to sleep as reality came crashing back in a torrent.

He had woken with a start some three days after their eventful return to the camp, blinking wearily as once again those memories of the present situation came flooding back to him. As before, he still felt tired, yet already the worry-induced restlessness was seizing him again, and with a sigh he untangled himself from his blankets and stood, dressing.

There was a movement outside his tent.

He froze for a moment, curious but wary, even as he was pulling on his boots. Now silent, he was suddenly aware of the hushed whisperings outside the heavy fabric of his tent, and he leaned forward slightly to hear them better.

"Is he awake yet?"  
"I'm not sure. I thought I heard movement in there, but maybe he was just turning over. Think we should--"

"No, we shouldn't! Lyn told us to let him sleep, so we'll let him sleep. He'll know soon enough--"

"But you _know_ he'd want to be woken, you've seen how he's been!"

"All the same, we should--"

There was a prickle of excitement that clicked at the back of his mind, and Kent, suddenly far more curious, chose that particular moment to step from the tent. "What did you need me for?" he asked quietly, his voice as composed as always very suddenly, though the glint of suspicion at the back of his mind continued to grow.

A sharp squeak of surprise met his ears, and the knight was just in time to see Rebecca's green braids whip around as she spun on the spot, and Wil beside her, his mouth open in surprise. Both stood in shock for several moments, clearly amazed that Kent had overheard them, but after a few moments Wil composed himself.

"We didn't wake you, did we?" he asked, looking a bit nervous as he glanced at the fellow Legion member's tired-looking face. "I mean, if we did than I'm sorry, I didn't mean to--"

"I was already awake," Kent said simply, a slight twinge of impatience forming alongside his suspicion, but he neatly held it back, just as he always did. "You did not disturb me at all. But what did you need?"

Rebecca and Wil exchanged glances, and then the female archer spoke. "Well, you see, it's Sain."

The blood-knight found himself suddenly intensely focused on the pair, straining for any inkling of news he could gain from them. "Yes?" he asked, his voice a little stiff with worry.

Now it was Wil who spoke up, looking slightly nervous, as if he was very intent on avoiding a bad response. "Well, he...he woke up a little while ago." He gave one his famed cheerful grins as he finished delivering the good news, but still watched the knight carefully.

Whatever response he had predicted, he was correct. Kent found himself positively elated at the news, and the two could read it on his normally composed face, but at the same time he spoke, his voice tinged in irritation and incredulity. "When?!"

"Uh...maybe six hours ago," Rebecca supplied, grimacing a little at the reaction both archers seemed to predict so well. "At first just for a few minutes, but he's been awake for maybe half an hour now from what I've heard."

"And nobody thought to wake me?" Kent responded sharply, still incredulous as he watched the two archers. Yet even as he spoke, he had already turned on his heel and started towards the healer's tent.

"I told them you'd want to be woken up!" Wil responded, as the two skipped forward a few paces to catch up to the knight. "I told them, but Lyn said you were exhausted and needed the rest, so we were told to let you sleep. 'Course, we weren't entirely sure that you were--"

"As I gathered," Kent responded crisply, but he was no longer angry now, only relieved.

The two followed him for a few more minutes, but broke off when in sight of the healer's tent with a cheerful wave, returning to the depths of the tents around him. The blood knight was rather relieved, for although he was grateful to them for delivering the news, he would rather not have them tagging around after him. Reaching the tent, he swept the door-flaps aside and entered without hesitation.

The tent was devoid of healers; apparently mid-afternoon meant chores and other duties for both Serra and Lucius. The cot was still occupied, however...except that its occupant was no longer trapped in a deep, fever-induced sleep, was instead lifting his head and turning it slightly to glance at the entrance, and--

"Ah, Kent, my friend!" Sain exclaimed delightedly, a genuinely pleased grin flitting to his face almost immediately. He still looked a little pale, and his voice was soft and slightly quavery from weakness and lack of use, but he was undoubtedly alive and soon to be well. "I was wondering when you would be coming to see me!"  
"I would have been here sooner," the redhead responded, stating the facts simply as he always did, "except that no one thought to wake me."

"Sleeping in, Kent," Sain tsked, with a weak laugh. "How often have you lectured me for that?"

Kent ignored the jab, surveying his friend's condition quickly. "How do you feel?"

"Like a wyvern sat on me," the emerald knight responded with an annoyed grimace, "and my head hurts something terrible from that bloody armor of yours, Kent—why is your shoulder-plate so _pointy _anyway?--but Serra and Lucius assure me that I'll live." He gave a weak grin, and then added, "but alas, I've been confined to bed-rest for a week. A _week, _Kent! What is a knight to do?" He sighed, already with a touch of his dramatic tone returning.

"You don't look like you could do so much as sit up straight," Kent observed dryly, having noted Sain's quiet and weak—but failed--attempts to lift himself already, "and in case you haven't noticed, our armor is nearly of the same make." Yet despite his lecturing response, his relief for his best friend's safety was evident in his expression, and his fellow cavalier could read it all too well.

"Perhaps you're right," the emerald knight responded with another somewhat dramatic sigh. He looked a little tired now from the visit, Kent observed, not that he could blame his friend any—this was only his second time awake since the attack, and the strain was bound to exhaust him until he could build more strength. The redhead was just about to make excuses to leave—he could come back and visit when Sain was feeling a little more up to it—but even as he opened his mouth to speak, Sain beat him to it.

"Hey Kent?"

"Yes?" the blood-and-gold armored knight responded automatically, glancing down at his friend.

Sain looked unusually serious as he spoke. "Thank you. You saved my life out there. I'd be dead without you."

His fellow cavalier looked momentarily surprised, but composed his expression quickly. "You do not have to thank me, Sain. Were you in my position, I'm sure you would have done the same."

"I know I don't have to thank you," Sain responded, sounding a touch exasperated, but still looking very serious. "and I know you'd help me out no matter what, and I'd do the same for you in a heartbeat, but still...I'd be dead without your help, Kent. So thank you. Besides," he added, and his serious look faded slightly as his famed grin slid onto his face, "that's exactly what--"

Kent held up his hand to forestall the comment. "Let me guess. 'Exactly what a noble knight of Caelin would do,' correct?"

Now it was Sain's turn to look surprised, but only for the barest fraction of a second, and then his grin split wider. "Exactly! Now you're really getting the hang of it, my friend! We'll make a dashing knight of you yet!"

"Wonderful," the redhead responded dryly.

Sain smiled at him, seemingly oblivious to the lack of enthusiasm in the statement, before his expression became more serious again.

"I have learned one thing in all of this, though," he murmured thoughtfully, shifting slightly on the cot as he spoke to reach a more comfortable position.

"That you should be more serious in enemy territory?" Kent asked, not daring to hope that his best friend could possibly be so insightful as that, but allowing himself to suggest it anyway.

The emerald knight waved the suggestion off—as Kent knew all too well he would—and answered seriously, "Oh no. A far more important matter than one such as that."

"And this would be...?"

Sain's roguish grin snapped into place almost immediately. "I must learn to take such dreadful injuries such as that far more often." His eyes glittered with delight as he added, "it draws the lovely lasses to me so favorably, Kent!"

The blood-knight's incredulous look seemed to go unnoticed, for his companion was already happily explaining his newest discovery. "They all came to visit me, you see, Kent, and the things they said about me! Truly, I _am _a heroic and noble knight of Caelin, for they all praised my bravery and strength through the journey, every one of them. The lovely Lyndis was beautifully concerned for her loyal knight, and that exquisite Fiora—she apologized for missing us on the mountain, Kent—but she knew that my skills were clearly unsurpassed to be able to win against the wyvern, and even that shy little lass Florina had such heroic things to say about me as she visited while I slept!"

Kent quirked an eyebrow, clearly to ask how Sain had become aware of such comments while sleeping, and the emerald knight, noticing the look, added rather sheepishly, "well, she _thought _I slept, but you _know _that lovely little lady would have fled if she thought I was awake, Kent, and I just couldn't risk it with someone such as her, I'm sure with a little work she..."

The redhead sighed quietly under his breath and pinched the bridge of his nose between his fingers, already beginning to tune his best friend out. Not a full week had passed since his near-death experience with the wyvern, and already Sain was back to his duty of utterly slaughtering the peace and quiet about him with a determination hitherto unforeseen.

But, he realized, as his best friend's quiet (for now) but excitable chatter provided the background noise for his thoughts, though his ceaseless prattle could be utterly annoying at the best of times, Kent would not have it any other way.

-----

And there we have it! The conclusion of this little fanfiction, which I hope you all enjoyed reading as much as I enjoyed writing. Imagine, and this was initially supposed to be a one-shot...I think it evolved a little past that. Just a _tiny_ bit.

For those interested, the inspiration for this fic largely came from some of my own _Rekka no Ken_ experiences. While Kent's extraordinary ability to gain EXP and hitpoints _reallyfast_ makes him a fantastic Tank of Doom (along with that amazing skill of getting-a-critical-when-all-hope-is-lost, thus-winning-some-back), Sain has this fantastic habit of dying or, more often, nearly dying (dramatically of course, ever as a noble and heroic Knight of Caelin should do), and nine times out of ten Kent has to go bail him out before he's utterly overwhelmed. I can only assume that this is one of Sain's more subtle ploys to gain attention from his numerous camp-mates, specifically those of the female variety.

This chapter title, as with the others, is once again the name of a _Muse _title (actually an album, as was the last chapter, technically).

I _do _have some more Fire Emblem related projects in the works, but as those are considerably more complex than this little once-a-one-shot, I can't say exactly when they'll be out. If you liked this fic, just keep an eye out for me occasionally.

Finally, if you leave a review, kindly list what you thought, what you liked, what you didn't like, what was written well, and what you would do to improve the story. I appreciate your constructive input, good and bad!

--Velkyn Karma


End file.
